


Nothing Fancy, Nothing Much

by glorious_spoon



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: Bisexual Female Character, Character Study, F/F, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-30 17:11:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20100730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glorious_spoon/pseuds/glorious_spoon
Summary: Rose Roberts takes a job in L.A., and eventually finds her feet and her place in the world.





	Nothing Fancy, Nothing Much

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the AO3 Migrant Aid Fic Exchange for [musiclmaiden](https://musiclmaiden.tumblr.com/), who donated to RAICES and asked for Rose/Michael and Rose/OFC.
> 
> With many thanks to Layla for beta-reading!
> 
> Title is from Prelude to a Kiss by Duke Ellington.

What with one thing and another, Rose has been in LA for more than a month before she actually makes it out to the beach. Surprisingly, she doesn’t actually mind that much, even though the beach was half the reason she decided to take the job when Agent--well, Chief, now--Sousa offered back in July.

Okay, more like a third of the reason. She really does _like_ Chief Sousa, and it was becoming increasingly obvious that whatever Peggy managed to pull off back in New York, the options for a gal like her were...well. Limited.

Besides, LA is like a dream. Scorching hot, sure, but it’s a dry heat, and the shop down the street from her new apartment sells these adorable little parasols to keep her from breaking out too badly in freckles. She’s been able to relax her wardrobe a bit, she’s stocked up on bathing suits, and even Chief Sousa has taken to wearing a string of increasingly outrageous Hawaiian shirts, although she’s pretty sure that pretty blonde he’s been stepping out with has something to do with that.

Hard luck on Peggy, but that’s just how the cookie crumbles sometimes.

Anyway, it’s mid-September before she makes it out to Will Rogers Beach. In New York, it would be getting too cold for swimming this time of year, but here in California it’s just as scorchingly hot as ever, and by the time she gets her towel and umbrella and picnic lunch arranged on the white sand, she’s all over sweat and ready for a dip.

Despite the heat, the ocean is still icy; she’s not quite sure what she was expecting. She shrieks, splashes, and topples over on her fanny, and someone laughs nearby, a small warm hand reaching down to help her up before she can be too put out about it, and she looks up to see warm brown eyes sparkling in a pretty sun-browned face, blonde curls pulled behind a bright red bandanna.

“You all right?” the woman asks, white teeth flashing bright.

“Fine,” Rose says faintly. She feels a little faint, and she’s pretty sure it’s not the heat or the tumble she just took.

And that’s how she meets Doris.

*

Here’s the thing. Rose has always had an eye for a good-looking fella. She always figured that after the war was over she’s find a man, settle down, raise a family.

That was before she joined up with the WAC as a switchboard operator and… well. Got her horizons expanded just a touch by a string of pretty hard-edged gals in uniform.

Of course, none of those affairs were ever going to last, but it was good to have a little bit of fun in a miserable situation, especially since none of that sort of fun was going to end up with her in a family way. Just about everybody got up to some kind of nonsense over on the front. Half the men, too, although of course she wasn’t meant to know anything about _that_.

The point is, she never expected any of it to follow her back home, but with Doris… well. One afternoon of splashing in the shallows and sharing the large picnic lunch Rose packed under her umbrella turned into two, and then three, and then before she knows it they’re meeting for shopping trips down in Studio City, and lunch dates that ramble into dinner dates without anyone paying attention, and by the time two weeks later when Doris leans across the towel they’re sharing on the empty beach at dawn and kisses her on the mouth, Rose already knows she’s done for.

It can’t last. She knows it can’t. But Doris is here, and she’s beautiful, and Rose didn’t survive the war without learning how to hang onto any good thing she can get with both hands for as long as she can.

She knows it’ll hurt when it ends, but that doesn’t mean it’s not worth having while it lasts.

*

She’s right. It hurts.

It’s not even a fight that does it, which might have been easier. Doris’s mother back in La Crosse gets sick, and Doris goes home to take care of her. She even offers for Rose to come with her, but Rose has the SSR, and she knows, she _knows_ that if she gives that up she’ll end up resenting Doris until she poisons everything between them and is left with nothing.

Doesn’t make it hurt any less, but she kisses Doris before dropping her off at the train station, and smiles through her tears when Doris turns to wave with one white-gloved hand, her polka-dot skirt swirling around her legs, and she knows she’s made the right choice.

It’s just going to sting for a while, but Rose is a big girl and she’s lived through worse. She knows how to move on.

*

She never means to tell anyone, after. She doesn’t really date much--or, well, she _does_, she goes out dancing for a night, lets the other agents and scientists and the occasional civilian buy her a drink and spend a few minutes spinning her across the dance floor to Duke Ellington, but it’s never any more than that. She’s learned her lesson, she thinks. Spinsterhood is starting to look mighty fine.

And then Michael happens.

He’s the last thing she ever expected. None of them, even Peggy, were expecting him to be _alive_, so that’s a shock, and then he’s tall and blond and handsome and..._gentle_ in a way that Peggy isn’t. Rose figures it has to be an act. She’s read his service files, after all. She knows what he’s done. What he’s capable of. She’s watched Peggy slap him across the face in the middle of the SSR bullpen and tell him that she never wants to see him again.

She’s sure as hell not expecting him to ask her out to dinner a few weeks later when he stops by the office. She’s definitely not expecting to say yes.

Rose Edith Roberts is not known for making smart decisions when it comes to her personal life, though, so she doesn’t exactly know why she’s surprised at herself.

He’s charming at dinner and over cocktails later. He doesn’t ask her to dance, which is probably to be expected. He doesn’t use a crutch like Chief Sousa, but he’s still got a stiff leg, a limp that he hides well enough that she’s not even sure anyone else notices it.

“You can go,” he says, smiling, and nods his chin at the dance floor. “Honestly. I don’t mind. I’m just not one for dancing these days.”

Rose gives him a long look, then lies cheerfully, “Yeah, well, me neither. You wanna buy me another gin and tonic and finish that story about the faked briefcase instead? You didn’t really jam some stiff into army clothes and dump him for the Krauts to find, did you?”

“You know, that’s really supposed to be top-secret,” Michael says, but he’s smiling.

Rose shrugs. “I have clearance. If you don’t want to tell me, though, you can just buy me another drink.”

“What about both?” Michael asks, and the way he’s smiling leaves her no choice but to smile back.

*

So, yeah. Michael Carter. Didn’t see that one coming.

She doesn’t let him kiss her that first night, or the next date when he takes her out to the boardwalk and buys her a cotton candy like they’re a couple of school-kids enjoying their summer break instead of a rather battered pair of spies. Former spies, in Michael’s case.

He doesn’t mention Peggy, and she doesn’t bring it up. Peggy herself has been tight-lipped about the whole business, which isn’t unusual for her, and Rose has a pretty good nose for figuring out when to push and when to leave it alone. This is a time to leave it alone.

But Michael is charming, and when he helps her into a cab later and asks if she’d like to take a picnic to the beach sometime later in the week, she barely even hesitates before she says yes.

She’s been over Doris for a while now, but something about picnics at the beach just always get to her. But she looks at Michael, his blond hair gleaming under the street lamps, his soft blue eyes and the curl of his smile, and she thinks, yeah. Yeah, she can do this.

“Sure thing,” she says. “Maybe I can teach you how to surf.”

“Oh, I don’t think you’ll have much luck with that,” Michael says, but he’s smiling. As the cab pulls away onto the street, she leans out the window to wave, and then to watch the shape of him grow smaller as they pull away until the cab turns a corner toward her apartment and he’s gone.

*

She takes him out to Will Rogers Beach that weekend. It hasn’t changed much in the year since she’s been there. Still choked with tourists, the white sand shifting beneath her bare feet as she slips her sandals off. Michael offers her his arm and she takes it, but she doesn’t let him take the picnic basket. He doesn’t protest, which is a point in his favor.

It’s not until they’re sprawled out on the red and white checkered blanket, their picnic lunch demolished between them, passing a bottle of wine back and forth like a pair of teenagers, that Rose leans back on her elbows and looks over at him, at his bare feet buried in the sand and his sunglasses tilted on his nose and the pink beginnings of a burn across his shoulders, his blonde hair disarranged by the salt breeze, and thinks— _oh._

She never really has noticed the fall, has she? Not until it’s too late.

Michael glances over at her, quizzical. “Have I got something on my face?”

“No,” Rose says. Michael is still looking at her, the beginnings of a smile starting to curve his mouth, and it seems like the easiest thing in the world to lean across the blanket and kiss him.

It’s just a kiss, nothing special. Just a sweet first kiss, entirely proper because they’re out in public. There’s no reason for her heart to flutter like it does when they pull apart, when Michael cups her cheek and smiles at her, when he says, “I’m so glad you did that. I don’t think I would have had the courage.”

“Aren’t you some kind of war hero?” Rose asks, grinning.

“Hardly a hero.” Shadows flicker in his eyes, then vanish as if they were never there at all. She doesn’t ask. She’s got a good idea at their causes, and she was in the same war as him. She knows how it is.

And anyway, they’re both here now, on this warm beach full of tourists with the ocean spread out before them and Michael’s hand still warm on her cheek. He’s close enough that she can smell his cologne, see the faint crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and there’s really nowhere else in the world she’d rather be right now.

“Thank you,” he says, “for coming out with me.”

“Thank you for asking,” Rose murmurs, and closes her eyes when he kisses her again. It’s another soft, sweet one, but there’s a hint of promise there now that makes her flush. When they break apart, she says, “I haven’t been here in so long. Not since—”

She breaks off. She’s not ashamed of everything that happened with Doris, but it’s not exactly the kind of thing you bring up on a third date. Even if she gets the feeling that Michael might actually understand. He has that look about him.

“Not since what?” he asks softly.

Finally, she opens her eyes. He’s so close, and his blue eyes are so pretty, his expression gentle.

_You can trust him,_ she thinks suddenly. _You can tell him._

So she does.

**Author's Note:**

> The undercover operation Rose mentions on her first date with Michael was a real covert op during WWII called [Operation Mincemeat](https://www.history.com/news/5-famous-wwii-covert-operations), in which a briefcase of faked intelligence operations was planted on a corpse dressed up as a British Royal Marine who was left for the Nazis to find.


End file.
